


Breathe

by EmmaSpencer



Series: Tales from the library [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Breathe, Facebook group weekly prompt, He is in a bad place of mind, Lonely Mycroft, Low Self Esteem, Mental Health Issues, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, Problems, Self Harm, Young Mycroft, no one there to care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 03:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15963920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmmaSpencer/pseuds/EmmaSpencer
Summary: Mycroft is alone, life is threatening to wash over him. So he turns to the one thing he knows will help...at least for a while.





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> If you are easly triggered by description of self harm, please don't read it!  
> It is based on my personal experience, before I managed to collect my courage and asked for help...which changed everything for me.   
> Thank you for reading.

‘Breath, just breath.’ Mycroft reminded himself.  
‘In through the nose, hold it, out to the mouth, little pause and again.’ he was laying on his back, eyes closed, arms covering his head. "Breath." he whispered. "Think of nothing just breath." he sat up with a grunt after failing in controlling his breathing.  
“Come on!” he mumbled to himself. “You can do this Mycroft, you can do this, you've done so well...two months clean. Two months...you don't want to ruin your record?” he got up and paced on the narrow corridor between the beds. His roommates were out thankfully or not thankfully because he would definitely don’t do anything with them around. But he was all alone, he could do whatever he wanted, no one here to stop him, no one here to care about it.  
"Two months..." it was two relatively calm months, so it was easy to stick to it, but now everything turned to the worse. It started with a fleeing thought, but during the course of the weeks it gradually set foot in his mind. Now he could barely think about anything else but the pain. One couldn't imagine how it helps, but is helped him; it helped silence his thoughts, provide relief from the constant anxiety.   
“Just one more time, this will be the last one…” he whispered, already knowing that it was a lie; he said it the last five times too.  
He took a deep breath and opened the drawer he hid the shameful objects. “Calm down Mycroft.” he reminded himself, but nor his heart nor his breathing slowed. He went to the sink and contemplated his options; leg, arm…leg or arm… “It is winter, so arm it is…it’ll fade till summer.” he mumbled to himself and rolled up his sleeve. “Not that anyone would see it…or care about it.” he looked to the mirror and quickly looked down again; he couldn’t face himself, not now at least.  
He lit the first match and watched it burn, he had no idea why this was his choice, there are so many ways one can cause pain to himself, which wouldn't leave such a prominent mark but this was the only thing that helped. Fire that destroyed their life and it keeps destroying it, bit by bit leaving its mark.  
Life was relatively normal before the fire, but after that; change of school, new people, the weight of her fate on him, expectations, responsibilities, Sherlock…it was all too much for him. At first it was just an accident, he was tired and spilled boiling water on his hand, once he cleaned up everything he was surprised to feel much calmer and generally much better than the weeks before. After that there was no stopping...For the outside he pretended that that everything was fine, keep the walls up all the time and stay away from everyone, which was easy since no one tried to approach him, no one really tried to get to know him.   
He extinguished the match and examined his arm to select the new spot. There were lots of scares scattered on his arms already, and on his legs too. “There will be fine.” he sighed and quickly before he could change his mind lit the next match and extinguished it. He took a deep breath and pushed it to his skin, his eyes closed reminding himself to take deep breaths and don't move his hand, although every part of his body was screaming to do so. Once he couldn't feel the heat anymore he dropped the match, he leaned back to the wall, taking deep breaths relief washing over him. He knew it was temporarily, but nothing else mattered; there was no anxiety, no panic, no self loath; he wasn't happy, he just felt nothing and it was all he needed now. He stood there for a few minutes, before he persuaded himself to clean up; hide everything and air the room. He opened the windows, collected the matches and the match box, contemplating to throw it out too; this was the last time after all, he promised himself that this will be, so he really should get rid of it.  
“Just in case.” he closed the door and carefully put it away, hidden in the bottom of the drawer.  
“No more, this is the last...I will manage...I can do this, I can definitely do this.” Mycroft whispered as he gently cleaned the wound, examining his scars during it, the evidence of his last slip was still fresh on his wrist. He sighed knowing that it was starting to get out of control; before he could go months without even thinking about it, not anymore. The relief was much shorter and the aftermath getting worse and worse. He tried everything self help books suggested but nothing worked for him; nothing at all; mediation, exercise, drawing on his hand, getting rid of everything, bath, walks, drawing, writing it out, screaming...but nothing gave him what he needed. He occasionally thought about asking for help, but that would be too much effort, finding someone, calling them, going out and talking, but he felt that the problems he has weren’t big enough for professional help.   
He curled up on his bed running his fingers up and down his arm, not caring about anything right now. He wasn’t bothered by the neighbours loud music anymore, not that he had piles and piles of books waiting for him to be studied, that exams were only weeks away, the argument he had with his mother, that he was alone, miserable…he felt nothing about it, nothing mattered now and he was determined to cherish the moment while it lasts, he could already sense shame creeping in the back of his mind. But he still had a few seconds till that...


End file.
